Putrefaction Poems | Examples

THE INSURRECTION OF THE ENTRAILS

I live trapped in a basket of predators,
their skulls crammed with futile idleness.
They celebrate misery like a morbid feast,
with the suicidal arrogance of heirs to nothingness.

The flames of humanity have burned away
in the abyss of their barren souls.
They worship the anarchy of weapons,
I see nothing but fields of ruins.

Their battles are the masquerades of capital,
poverty spreads across the Earth like a plague,
and the closeness of deprivation becomes a nightmare.

I spit upon their rotten idols,
those false sanctities with profaned orifices.
I have piled up sins to taste the ecstasy of raw freedom.

Born from the wounded entrails of the Third World,
I refuse to bow before the putrefaction of consumerism.
Free from the origin, yet prisoner of a banana republic
delivered to the savage plunder of predatory empires.

I fight my demons in the trenches of the mind
to adorn my reality with fleeting mirages of this convulsive world.
They consign me to the dungeons of their alienation,
but I rise, insurgent against their servitude.

Another World Sees

Another World Sees

It is good to live together two lives
Two lives are one, and one is two
The gate is open in the cemetery

Mirror life, patinated monochrome
The other side, without putrefaction
Calling now the gate, step is time

Runs the past life, comes silver kind
This life is cold but cool clear life
Feel and live in the dead cleared 

past. Yes, the alien world chose us
Change time, change the past lives
Into the new cool atmosphere’s life

Here is the time
To go to a new life
Gate is open
Enter
This is the new life
I am magnetized

a beautiful dream, slowly dying

The earth wept for no reason 
under a soft articulate noise 
of auctioned lives, 
a beautiful dream, slowly dying.

Rottenness seeks in the soul
righteous prey,
grown from pure moments
in which the whiteness of thought
nurtures the hope of cleanliness
away from the smell own rot,
inherited from primary birth. 
I feel the path in the whites of my eyes 
through the chain of peoplecrucified 
only for the future millennia. 
We collect the rusty nails with tears 
let's stick them on the sky. 
Through the ancestral valleys 
the blood of the crusaders flows, 
furrowing the carapace of faith 
to destruction. 
One earth, 
one history, 
hangs like a ripe fruit 
in the grown tree 
from the heart of the universe 
ready to taste the putrefaction. 
On another branch
a flower opens 
in the prehistory of another fruit.

The earth wept for no reason 
under a soft articulate noise 
of auctioned lives, 
a beautiful dream, slowly dying

I Breathe

I breathe; I think; I slumber and I wake
I feel; I hear; I scream for pity’s sake
I push; I shove with little left to give
But six feet neath new fallen leaves, I live

I breathe the fumes of my putrefaction 
As I lie cramped with limited action
I hear the sound of my life below ground
Six hundred years worth of worms slinking round

I feel the splinters of oak ’neath my nails 
Each - one less day till persistence prevails
I sense that I shall enjoy the night soon
And be undead by the light of my moon

And now, there it is; the smell of the night
Your silver glint in the sky gives me flight
Those who interred me are many years dead
Their progeny live; and I must be fed

Shall any man notice your renewed glee
Your moonlight to them is daylight to me
I knew you were waiting, o light of mine
For we are coupled by ancient design

Warm me, my moon, my midnight accomplice
Restore my flesh; we’ve much to accomplish
Descendants of men who left you to grieve
Shall scream in the night when they hear me breathe

opening

bubbling blackening putrefaction
   completing the first stage
        decomposition of prime elements
      gray matter decay
   decay of prime matter
      what matters is that you save nothing
    transmute
       analyze existence
release
        infuse the prime matter
    the elements composition
   flour
gold
   magnesium, zinc, copper
calcium(?)
      selenium, wolfram
   sodium, sugar, copper
chromium
         nitric acid
    lead

- Hell Is Open -

An inferno of thoughts and chaos
            No one sees that the smile does not reach the eyes
            A fortress built by betrayal
            When the words are pronounced,
            they can no longer be withdrawn
            A devilish and poisonous voice sings to me
            the influence of the words is decisive
            Impossible to fight this dark force
            In his presence
            a putrefaction, stench, fire and dark smoke
            A glimpse into hell - is a fact





            09.03.2023
            Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
            Copyright © All Rights Reserved

            Hell Poetry Contest
            Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
            8th place in the contest

Spectrum of Ignorance

Arrogance rests on the spectrum of ignorance
Somewhat camouflaged by its superior air,
I surmise one requires huge gulps of intolerance
To maintain equilibrium teetering there.
“Pride goes before a fall” intones the holy book,
It does not appear to discomfit the haughty
Who traipses through a life without a second look
To monitor their poor behavior so naughty.
Neither do they respond when called on to explain
Their attitude so warped by self-satisfaction,
Some have suggested they are marginally insane
I rather think they are soiled with putrefaction.
These narcissistic fools so in love with themselves,
Believe they merit a place on museum shelves.

Written September 21, 2022

When I Die

When I demise,
If I succumb...
I crave you to bury me
along with my poetry...
Not for them to suffer
the putrefaction of the flesh...
No, but to remind me
that in some dimension,
I'm alive...
Relating to, fear not,
poetry does not rot!

Nothing Smells Like Heart

overprotective
like ink in a scar tissue
you said I'm stuck in a bad version of a life
and gave me your life mask as a present

now I have an owl in my iris

you've cloak me in aluminum foil
so I can be preserved for later
and settled in the last drawer
to watch patiently how you consume 
some other, tender pieces
as my vascular system hinders your digestion

waiting hidden under this metal sheet
through cheap fragrances I'm covering the indications of putrefaction
just in case you decide 
to place
one more plate

mine

but you've settled me in the last drawer
where surfaces freeze the most
of our muscles
to the bones

bones become unsteady
a fire whirl has thrown us out of balance

now we're seeking
desperately for solid ground
to lean back
as the option of leaning on one another
is off the table

I Love Nature

My soul cries for Nature and natural things
To blend with my spirit as one
And circle this globe on powerful wings
Oh, show me all that Creation has made

I have been hidden where putrefaction clings
And where decay blocks out the sun
But somewhere I know that a mockingbird sings

I know of cold water that comes from the springs
And miracles that rains have done
As my being longs for the beauty that brings
Oh, show me all that Creation has made

I am in purgatory after Death stings
Covered with earth and mud that runs
All the same for peasants and kings
Oh, show me all that Creation has made

Heaven will be soon when the entry bell rings
I may be summoned by some nun
To step into glory as a welcome pings

But, Dear Lord, I will miss those bluebonnet Springs
I love Nature and freedom won
Still, tell me that's life and the pendulum swings
Oh, show me all that Creation has made

2-21-19
Contest:February 2019, Roundel
Sponsor: Dear Heart

The Wild Goose Chase

THE WILD GOOSE CHASE*

I accidentally let one loose
did you see that thing vamoose?
It gave me the slip, did you see?
Now that thing is awfully free.

I walk on pins and needles, friend.
Trying to find, I twist and bend.
You ask why I pull up the rug,
why I pull out every plug.

I raise my hands over my head
and flip over each unmade bed.
I flip out, scratch, harrumph, grumble,
dash around corners, stumble.

At night I turn off all the lights,
sit in the corner, battle bites.
I listen for terrible sounds.
My eyes dart round and round and round.

Afraid of where that thing will land —
on the mountain or in the sand.
I feel empty of all this gas.
I miss the sound of golden brass

and the smog that liquifies eyes,
the way your ribbon twists and lies.
The putrefaction of butt —
the stinker where we blame the mutt! 

7/11/2018
Messina’s I accidentally let one loose poetry contest

*Wild Goose chase - a wild or absurd search for something
To goose - to squeeze a butt cheek

Braggart Batons and Sombre Sorties

In my mind somber sorties unfold
When morbid movements scar a hundredfold.
Normalcy dead, transparency scared
Empathy bearded, intransigence endeared. 

In my mind sordid scenes grow cold
When vulnerable voices no longer hold.
Brash brands undead, harsh hustles prepared
Phantom forces deployed, evil enamels ensnared.

In my mind torrents of tears no longer dry
Victory vessels victimize, vile victuals bereft of shame fly.
Flies on excrement multiply, sties of scorn sniggle
Spies of blame bloom, pies of putrefaction giggle.

In my mind orifices and offices of ordure spy
Voices of Hades hustle, choices of straitjackets sigh.
Worms of wilderness sparkle, whiffs of death dodge
Squids of insanity soar, weeds of vanity splurge.

Third World

The rest of us
caught here
in the web
of a foreign arachnid

We prop up
his appendages
and force feed
his proboscis

Those of us
blinded here
by his pure
dark whiteness

Grope and slash
in the excrement
of his dying
putrefaction

In a world
good for others
they concentrate
us in harm

And our children
play in the backyard
of beyond
forever like
the rest of us

Rotting By Illness

What good is my being when I cant be myself. 
The only thing i am good at I cant deliver rap. 
A virus shredded my skin and dwelled deep within. 
And all am doing is rotting on my remains. 
My throat can't empower my words
My mind cant think 'em
My eyes get blurry every single time i blink' em
Lying in my bed as a dying rotting carcass
I am choking my lungs on my own putrefaction
I rise each day picking my body's every fraction 
But i cant seem to find even with floor any attraction
My head cant balance my body on floor
I fall on to grapple every nearing door
My feet dont agree to take me to door
It's not my throat anymore but stomach that roars
No matter how much i bathe no matter how much i scrub, rotting things can't get rid of their odour. 
I feel like a zombie,  bed is my grave and am rotting in my own living  remains

Dont Exhume School

Swimming in mire of memory,
Searching the fish of forgetfulness,
Those are not the good days;
Nervous eyes will get attacked,
Leaving residue of a small heart,

Beat the soft cheeks like egg;
Hands smack the sensitive back,
Infernal, Thrashed till tears,
Suspense of demonic destruction,
Climax of nervy showers,

Bringing noises of home to job,
Ruthlessly pulling off frustrations;
Child became a punching bag;
Explanation of sparing the rod,
Rooms; never to go torture spaces,

Chiron of Greece will feel ashamed;
His passions going for putrefaction,
Witches with too many potions;
Heating the young blood for evil;
Then go home riding on brooms,

Satisfied without such education;
Sweated a lot digging deep;
A metallic coffin from hell,
Burying the days of horror,
Don’t exhume those days.

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